Tooth and nail
by Anonemity
Summary: No, they didn't break out of prison, not quite yet. I'm not sure what this is exactly. My first attempt at a prisonbreak fic. Please R&R, I'll add more depending on the feedback. Oh um: MichaelSarah. Obviously.


-1**I don't know anything about how real prisons work, what decides the sentencing years, or what regulation protocol is after something like an attempted break. So please, just go with it. I don't think it needs to be said, but I'm obviously not affiliated with the show.**

** -**

His vision was blurry. Not even that. All his vision encompassed in a bright light, a rectangle who's edges just barely eluded perception. His body felt overheated, pulsing in rhythm with yet another concept just beyond his consciousness. It was his heart beat, but that doesn't really matter, does it. He would just close hid eyes for a second. That's all. Then he could get his bearing. His lids slipped shut. Only for a second, he repeated once more in his mind, even as the end of this though faded and his grip on reality loosened once more.

-

"Fuck, I never thought they we're building a gosh danged _tunnel_!" Belleck tried explaining himself to Pope. The older man wasn't hearing it.

"It was your responsibility to know, Belleck! That man had me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and locked in a closet!" Belleck nodded some more, apologizing sir, will make up for it, sir. His niece was big into collecting things. Trolls, shells, those funny bobble dolls. He figured he looked something like that. And yet.

"No I would not like a glass of water, Belleck! What do you take me for!" He glared in distaste, ramming his gaze into the silly man's balding head. "The only reason I'm not scrapping your ass right now, Belleck, is I assume you got some score to settle." The corners of his lips curved in a grim smile. No amusement reached his eyes.

"Yes sir, I do." Belleck said quietly, relishing the idea of a parlance in regards to Scofield. Fuck regulations. He grinned slowly.

-

Sarah puttered around her latest patient's room. She didn't really have anything to do there, rearranging this bottle, straightening out that folder. Busywork to calm her. And an excuse. It was rare now that she was anywhere but this room, watching him breath. Listening to the steady reminders of the overwhelming machinery surrounding him. He was still alive.

It wasn't a coma, persay. He had higher level brain functions, and his eyes moved beneath his eyelids--sometimes he would emote a faint groan, and action which had her at his side, on he off chance he woke up.

Needless to say, that hadn't happened yet. Once she had arrived, sure she'd just seen him close his eyes. But then, she seemed prone to daydream when Michael was involved. She turned to a nearby shelf and her eyes fell upon a small bottle, slightly out of line with the others. Just there, okay, adjusted. She nearly knocked it over when officer Belleck barged in.

"Scofield," he growled, almost under his breath.

"Can I help you?" Sarah asked curtly. The man ignored her, stepping noisily to the side of the bed.

"Officer…" Sarah asked again, her voice pulled slightly taut. The man ignored her.

"Do you know what you put me through--what I'm still going through?" His voice was barely audible. "My job is on the line." He emphasized each word. "My reputation is on the line. My mother…she thought…You kept me tied up in a _pipe_. For hours!" By now he was shouting, his face red and contorted. Seeking some mode of revenge, he snatched at one if the tubes strung up to the sleeping man's arm.

"Officer Belleck!" Sarah rushed over to replace it, but the man stood in her way. "Those are his painkillers!"

"Good! Bout time he tasted some of his own medicine, eh?"

"You and your men nearly killed him. The other escaping convicts, no. A tranquilizer in the leg, a crack on the head. Nothing. But him, you felt you needed to restrain to the point of fatality. So if you don't mind." Her voice was low and commanding. She hoped.

Belleck didn't seem to get that, though. He took an imposing step toward her. "You don't think for a second, darlin', that you weren't a part of his plan. We all were. Tools. That's it. So whatever perverted fantasies you have been entertainin', I suggest you rethink those right now." Sarah swallowed. The thought had occurred to her.

Behind them, a low whimper emerged from Michael's throat. The painkillers were fading.

"Officer, you will let me do my job. Now." Sarah kept her voice even. The man slowly stepped away. The doctor tried not to look too relieved.

"You think about what I said, Miss Tancredi." Parting words before he slammed the wire and glass windowed door behind him. Sarah didn't remove her gaze until he was out of sight. Another agonized moan came from behind her and she quickly replaced the needle. It was several minutes before he was calm again.

-

"What, I aint got no visiting rights? Papi?" Sucre asked, useless in the stone face of the guard outside his solitary cell. Stone back, actually. The man wasn't facing him. Every few hours he would leave briefly, relieve himself, and return with the next meal. Sucre hoped the man washed his hands. He tried again.

"He's like a brother, man? You saw what they did to him. You saw, right? Rameras locas." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Aye, he's still alive, right? Right? Is that why I can't see him?" He murmured a quick prayer and crossed himself."

"No, he's still alive." It seemed the guard had a soul after all. Sucre awaited more information, but none was offered. Sucre tried again.

-

Wait, this was wrong. He kept his eyes closed, for the moment. Best leave his awareness a mystery to anyone who might be in the room. Upon first impression, he felt he was in a bed, rather immobile. The inside of his arms hurt--beneath his elbows. Needles. He tensed up a moment, then made himself calm. He had to keep up appearances, at least until he understood his situation.

It was cold in the room, he could feel it on the tops of his arms and on his face. The rest of him was warm, covered in heavy layers of blankets. Or so, he assumed. He slowly let his senses moved down his body, tightening each muscle ever so slightly just to make sure he could. When he reached his left ankle he was met with a stabbing pain, shooting up his leg and through his spin. It was all he could do not to react.

Even harder a stimulus to ignore was the warm hand that took his, lifting it carefully and without upsetting the crook of his arm. A faint aroma found it's way to him. He'd know it anywhere. He squeezed the hand--once, hard. Silence. Several moments passed. He repeated his action.

"Yes Michael, it's safe to talk." She said softly.

Cautious, now. He opened his eyes. The light above him radiated hard blue light. Fluorescent. Standardized. He let his eyes adjust an instant, and drift slowly down to the woman seated beside him. Her eyes traveled over his face, his arms, his machines. His face.

"Sa--" he cleared his throat, paper dry. She wordlessly fed him a sip of water, tepid. He tried again. "Sarah," it was soft, he took his cue from her own tone. She said nothing.

"I'm so sorry." He said simply, lacking anything more meaningful. Her eyes misted and she blinked several times in succession.

"Michael we ran just about every test we could on you. You were in quite a state." He glanced down at his body, overwhelmed by wires and all sorts of unknown hospital entities. Then back to her. In the harsh light her hair glowed off of her alabaster skin. He remained silent.

"You're not diabetic anymore, Michael." He looked away. It was clear by her tone that she knew. He couldn't face her eyes, her accusatory glare. This was all such a nightmare. He needed to tell her.

"Sarah I--" But no, he couldn't. Not now that he was here. He might be a captive for years now, maybe more. He couldn't unload his feelings onto her, it wasn't fair. He'd already caused her enough pain. "I'm sorry." He finished. Unsatisfactory. She seemed to agree.

"I was a part of your plan, wasn't I?" She asked, not even raising her voice. He didn't have to tell her the answer.

"It's okay, I understand. Your brother. I'd just thought--never mind. Nothing. The ends justify the means, I guess." his gaze darkened, his brow knit.

"Glad your efforts were worth it." She continued relentlessly. He felt the moisture at the back of his eyes. Fought it.

"At first…but things…changed. Sarah I…don't know what to say. I predicted you but I never predicted…_you_." She took a deep breath.

The door opened suddenly behind her. She turned around to see the other nurse come in. The woman took in the room and sighed.

"Sarah, let go of his hand. He's not waking up today." She quickly looked back at Michael. Head on the pillow, centered. Breathing steadily, slowly. Exactly as he had been for days now. She dropped his hand--it fell limply on the bed. The only proof that the previous exchange had actually occurred was the slight wetness coating his eyelashes.

"Yeah, I know. They're criminals, but I hate to see anyone in this state." The other nurse looked at her colleague in sympathy.

"I know honey, I know."

They talked for a time now, discussing new medication shipments, the conditions of several patients in the prison. Unknown names, unknown problems. They spoke and Michael feigned sleep, and eventually pretense became reality, and he slipped back into the dark.


End file.
